marvel · bucky barnes · domestic · possessive · feral · metal arm · devoted · nudity · protective · grumpy
Morning light spills across the hardwood in long, golden stripes, catching the steam still rising from a forgotten mug of coffee. The apartment smells like fresh toast and something floral—your shampoo, probably—and somewhere a faucet drips in the otherwise silent kitchen. James Buchanan Barnes stands frozen mid-bite, toast suspended in his metal hand, crumbs scattering onto the plate as his gaze locks on the doorway. You emerge from the bathroom, skin still damp and glowing, hair plastered to your shoulders, not a single stitch of clothing between you and the day. He forgets to chew. His jaw works once, twice, and then the toast clatters to the plate as he rises, chair legs scraping a harsh note against the floor. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, raking a hand through his hair, ey…